


And the Stars Make Love to the Universe

by Moonlark



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, but really that little plot is more of an excuse for porn than anything else, okay maybe if you squint and look sideways you could find an excuse for plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 22:08:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1833952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlark/pseuds/Moonlark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ahh, the adventures of a slut...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's never too late for an Olympic Blow Job fic.
> 
> Title from 'Empire' by Shakira because it was too perfect not to use. Summary from Tom Lehrer's 'Smut'
> 
> Also, this is me trying to cope with life because Hockey RPF has betrayed me and broken my heart and Figure Skating RPF is all I have left. Don't leave me, my babies.

Evgeni is going to hell.

He stuffs a fist in his mouth in an attempt to stifle a moan and desperately keeps his hips from thrusting. His other hand is clenched tight, clutching at the wall behind him like it's a lifeline to sanity. He can't look down, because then it'll be over too soon. The sight of Jason kneeling between his legs, cheeks hollowed and occasionally flicking his eyes upward as he sucks, is just too much.

The boy smirks around Evgeni's cock and then—holy fuck—does something incredible with his tongue that has Evgeni's nails digging into his palms as his hips jolt up before he can regain control, and yep, definitely going to hell.

Jason pulls off, and for a moment Evgeni thinks he's going to be scolded, but the boy just guides his hands to the brown hair and whispers hoarsely, "Fuck my face."

And that is completely unfair, Evgeni doesn't think, because he can't think—he's too busy thrusting into Jason's mouth and watching with intense eyes as the boy just takes it, takes it all—and seriously, when did Jason Brown go from an innocent kid to a fucking _sex god?!_

No, really, this is the best head he's gotten in _years_. Part of him wants to take this shit up to his room and just have his way with Jason. There's also a small voice in the back of his head whispering that it's just the dry spell talking. It has been a long time since he'd had good sex with another guy—since Vancouver, when Evan had wanted to be tied to the bed and fucked senseless. But no, it's not really the dry spell—it's Jason's skills, and his looks, and (if Evgeni's being completely honest with himself here) the risk of the whole thing. Yes, no one's here now, but it's an unlocked closet and it would be easy for someone to walk in on them. Not only would that make a huge scandal for both of them, their families, and everyone in figure skating in general, but Evgeni would have to leave Russia for good—and for some reason, the possibility of getting caught makes it all hotter.

His hands have tightened involuntarily in Jason's hair, and he thinks that might contribute to the enthusiastic moan the boy lets out, and those vibrations just make everything better, if that's possible. Evgeni's about to come, and he says so (gasping it out in Russian, but the meaning's clear). Jason doesn't pull off, though, and Evgeni can't hold back any longer.

He comes so hard the Perseid meteor shower takes place behind his eyelids.

When he returns to the present, he becomes aware of the fact that Jason's hard—like, _really_ hard—but the boy just sits back on his heels and looks up, smugness written across his face, like he knows he's just blown Evgeni's mind.

It doesn't take much to tug Jason to his feet, and even less to get his pants down. The boy's so on edge already that it's not even a minute before he's gasping and giving the wall behind them a new coat of paint.

For a long moment, there's nothing but the sound of the two of them catching their breath. Then Evgeni says, "I am not cleaning that up."

Jason smirks and then— _Jesus fucking Christ_ —leans over and _licks_ his own come off of Evgeni's hand, and if he were younger, Evgeni would be getting hard again right about now.

There's silence while the cleanup occurs, but it's a warm silence, comfortable, and Evgeni thinks for a moment that maybe, if it means sex like this and—shit—a smile like that, then maybe he'd be glad to leave Russia behind and cross the ocean for this boy. 

Then he closes his eyes, shakes his head and thinks, hell, going to hell.

_Why?_ he asks himself, and doesn't realize he's spoken aloud until he opens his eyes and sees Jason staring at him, somewhere between incredulous and confused.

"It's a free blow job. Is a reason really necessary?" the boy asks, and then shrugs. "Well, I suppose you could call it a celebration of your retirement." His voice is rough, fucked, and naturally this sends a flash of desire down Evgeni's spine.

He shamelessly admires Jason's ass as the boy leaves, because it's a nice ass and he kind of wishes he could get to know it better. He lets himself speculate and fantasize, thinking thoughts he'd been avoiding until now, because if he's going to hell, he might as well have a little fun along the way.

*******

Jason trots down the hallway with a spring in his step and a smug grin threatening to break out across his face. He's feeling really good, great even—fuck, why wouldn't he, he just gave some head and got a hand job. Besides, that's two squares on the bingo card Josh had given him that he can check off now—debauch a Russian and closet blow job.

He begins whistling as the rink's doors shut behind him. Putin would be disappointed, but America—and Josh—would be so proud.


	2. Chapter 2

It's not like Jason's dumb. He doesn't walk in and proclaim his recent activities. He doesn't even say anything, keeping quiet so that no one hears the rough edge on his voice that comes with giving a blow job. To do so would be career suicide at worst and get him some unwanted advances at best.

The Shibs must be, like, master detectives or something, because they figure it out anyway. 

"So, who was it this time?" Alex asks, dropping down onto the couch next to him and yanking his earbuds out. Maia appears as well, leaning over the back of the couch to peer down at him with a surprisingly judgmental gaze. It's all so sudden that Jason flinches and nearly loses his grip on his phone.

"Fu—don't just sneak up on me like that!"

"Sorry," Alex smiles, not sounding sorry at all. Maia doesn't even bother speaking, just shrugs and ruffles Jason's hair, which—she should know better by now, because that's not a thing you do in polite company. It's Maia, though, so that kind of offsets the 'effect' it would normally have.

"So?" Maia prompts after a short while of silence.

"What do you mean?"

"You don't think we haven't figured it out yet, Jason. You're not that subtle."

"Yeah," Alex adds, "you should be thankful we're the only ones who noticed. So who was it this time?"

"I... I don't know what you're talking about."

Maia sighs. "Jase, we both know that's no true. The way Chan seemed all spaced out two days ago... the way you weren't anywhere to be found an hour before that..."

Jason can feel a blush sneaking its way up his face, and he mutters something incomprehensible, wishing that he could be anywhere else right now.

"What was that?" Alex asks.

Jason sighs. Whatever, they'll just keep bugging him, might as well get it over with now—rip the bandaid off, per se. "I said, I needed to check the maple leaf off my bingo card."

He takes a private moment of satisfaction at the shellshocked looks on their faces and then escapes.


End file.
